


The Seventh Temple

by Lobelia321



Category: Mesopotamian RPF
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28112130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lobelia321/pseuds/Lobelia321
Summary: Enheduanna, High Priestess of the goddess Inanna, goes on a journey to the temples of her lands.
Relationships: Enheduanna/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Seventh Temple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redsnake05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/gifts).



After a night spent in prayer and prostration, Enheduanna, high priestess of the morning and the evening, stepped out onto the temple sill and said to her acolytes, 'Prepare seven bulls for slaughter and sacrifice.'

The acolytes scattered. 'My lady.'

'I have been vouchsafed a great vision,' said Enheduanna. 'Praise be to the queen of evening.'

'Praise be to the queen of morning,' responded the vice-priestesses.

'Simma.' She turned to her chamber woman. 'Pack a travel bundle. Tell the steward to ready twenty-one oxen, three sedan chairs and seventeen mules.'

'My lady.' Simma shuffled backwards towards the exit, on her knees.

'And Simma,' said Enheduanna. 'Inform the cook that I will require his new young assistant to travel with us. What is his name again, U-something.'

'Utubanda,' whispered Simma, and her voice trembled.

Enheduanna smiled. 'Yes. Utubanda. He will come with us.'

And there was something else in her smile, a secret knowledge and foreboding, a hidden hope and the spring of laughter and desire in her belly and her loins.

She was careful to wrap a stack of tablets in moist cloth, tie together a sheaf of styluses, arrange water bowls and envelopes, and bundle the whole thing up in a nondescript strip of linen so that it looked like nothing so much as a heap of dirty laundry.

Two days before their departure, Simma came to her. She had drawn her veil about her face and entered, creeping forward on her elbows and knees. Enheduanna lay down her stylus and turned around.

'What is it, Simma?'

'My lady.' Her voice was a whisper.

'Speak up, Simma.'

'I cannot find the...' Her voice still didn't rise above a breath.

'Find the what?'

'The travelling clogs, my lady. I cannot find your travelling clogs.'

Enheduanna looked at her sharply. 'They are,' she said carefully, 'exactly where we left them last year. When we went on our annual journey to the temple of Ningirsu. This is,' and she slowed her words down even more, 'no different from then.'

'Yes, my lady.' Still, Simma did not move from her crouched position.

'What is it, Simma?'

'My lady, it is my own clogs. I do not have any travelling clogs.'

'Come now, Simma. Go to the steward and have him find you a pair of clogs. Your feet will stay dry. You will be safe.'

'Yes, my lady.' But still, Simma did not move.

'What is it, Simma?' Enheduanna asked for a third time.

'I am afraid,' whispered Simma.

'Afraid?'

'I am afraid that I cannot find the cloth to wrap the clogs in.'

'I see,' Enheduanna said. She paused. 'Why do you not want us to travel, Simma?'

'Oh,' said Simma but her voice grew stronger and she shifted her pose. 'I am but a humble servant who does not speak and only listens.'

'So what have you been listening to?' Enheduanna said. 'What have you heard from your sister who works in the palace kitchens?' She turned away and picked casually at the threads of the temple cloths spread across her work table. 'What are they saying in the kitchens?' And, more pointedly, 'What does Utubanda say?'

Simma flinched but her voice was steady enough. 'My ears have heard talk of danger, that there are men waiting for you to leave, that they have sent you away only to usurp your office, and that they know that you will go to the netherworld and never return so another should take your place.'

'Who would take my place? I am the high priestess of the supreme queen of the gods.'

'But... the King is the goddess' husband.'

'The goddess takes for her husband whom she pleases. Husbands are not priests.'

'No, my lady.'

'Only a woman can be high priestess of Inanna. Do they not know the goddess' will and pleasure?'

It was all politics, of course. She, too, had heard them, the rumours and rumblings of rebellion. And after her expulsion and banishment, she had grown cautious and shrewd. There would always be those who meant to do away with her. 

But this was just why she must travel to the six temples.

'Let them know,' she told her chamber woman in a low, slow voice, 'let them know of our sacred journey in the kitchens of the palace. Here is our itinerary, mark it well. We set out for the temple of Ningirsu, praised be he, at Lagash on its green hill. We continue on to the temple of Ninhursag, in the Kesh mountains, the temple of Nisaba at Eresh, and thence to the temples of the netherworld: first at Gishbanda, deep in the mountains where dwell the dead, the temple of Ningishzida...' Simma shuddered as this but Enheduanna forged on relentlessly. '... and we go onto the holy shrine of Dumuzi, my lady's divine spouse whom she exiled into the netherworld whence she rose, the shrine that is in the Badtibira steppes.'

A whimper came from Simma's throat.

'We finish our circuit at my queen's temple at Zabalam in the shining morning mountain. Yes, Simma, tell your sister all this so that she may know where you will be at all times and if she wishes to send a message for you to hear, she may do so via the palace scribes. Repeat the itinerary.'

'First, Ningirsu at Lagash,' said Simma in a tremulous tone. 'Then Ninhursag in the Kesh mountains. Third, the temple of Nisaba at Eresh. Next, the temples of Ningishzida, may evil be averted, and the shrine of Dumuzi in the Badtibira steppe. And last of all, the temple of her high lady at Zabalam. '

'Good,' said Enheduanna. This is why she kept Simma on as her personal servant: the girl had a phenomenal memory. 

If Simma found the order of travel odd, zigzagging across the realm as it did, she did not show it.

'But', and at this Enheduanna rose and crouched down next to Simma in a rustle of fabric. She pulled back the maid's veil and pressed her lips against the shell of Simma's ear, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Simma's own eyes widen with fear, like that of a horse shying at a lion's approach. She spoke, hot and hard. 'That is not the real itinerary. Now listen closely and what I tell you next you will tell nobody else. Do you understand me?'

A tremor of assent went through Simma.

'We will leave for Ningirsu, indeed, and we will visit the temple at Lagash on the green hill. And then we will depart in the direction of Ninhursag, turning our faces towards the Kesh mountains. But we will not go there. We will travel instead straight to the gateway of the netherworld; we go to Gishbanda deep in the mountains, to the temple of Ningishzida.'

Simma squirmed but Enheduanna had a firm grasp of her hair and pulled back her head until the girl's throat was bared like that of a sacrificial cow.

'This is secret, do you understand?'

'Yes.' Simma's voice came out choked.

Enheduanna rose and dusted off her gown. 'Go and prepare for our travels,' she said in her everyday bored voice. 'And make sure to remind the steward to find you that pair of clogs.'

~~~

On the eve of their departure, the King her father came to her. Trumpets announced his arrival. First the far off ones sounded, right at the bottom of the great stairway. Then the middle ones, on the lower platform which caught the first rays of dawn. Finally, the trumpets just outside the entrance to the central gate house sounded. 

She stood tall on her dais, with torches lit on all four walls. 'My King.' 

'High Priestess.' He flung out his hand, peremptory as usual. 'Go', he said to her attendants even though they were not his to command. 

She inclined her head to signal that yes, they were permitted to leave. Only Simma stayed, crouched in on herself in the shadows.

'May your travels go well.' He wore his full ceremonial outfit, down to the black paint around his eyes and the peacock feathers between the horns of his crown. 'May the sun rise on the dawn of each journey's day and set on rest and succour each night.'

'Thank you, my King.' She, too, spoke in the formal language of royal divinity. But there was something else here, a sense of unease, a sense of irritation.

'Who will officiate at the solstice celebrations?'

She named one of the vice-priestesses.

'The equinox of the moon?'

She named another of the vice-priestesses.

'The lustration of the barley seed?'

'Father,' she said. 'These are matters of no import. The goddess will endure without my own self performing the rites in this one of her temples. And I shall still be performing them, wherever I will be.'

There was silence between them. The torches guttered in their sconces. 

'My daughter,' the King then said, using the informal mode of address.

'I am a servant of Her Majesty above all,' replied Enheduanna and pulled herself up tall. 'She will rise in the evening and set in the morning, as She always does.'

'I'm afraid...' he began.

She knelt before him then, no longer priestess but child. She looked at his large hands and at the hairs on the back of them, the harsh rings on the fingers, the blunt skin where his nails began. She bared her nape to him. 'I'll not go down into the netherworld,' she whispered. 'I'm not like the Mother. The goddess of life and death has bid me go, and go I must.' She modulated her voice in the manner of someone who puts an end to a dispute. Nothing more was to be said, and he would say nothing more. Yes, he was King of the entire world. Yes, he was the founder of Empire and the conqueror of enemies. The blood of thousands upon thousands of soldiers stained his heart.

But the queen was the queen. And all he was, he was only because of her grace.

'And now She bids me see that all is to rights in the temples of Her realm.' Enheduanna rose, with a rustle of her flounced frock. 'And I will return. I shall return.' What she did not say was, I will not be banished again; I would rather die.

'Are you certain you understand her will, my daughter?'

She stopped on a turn, her back to him. 'The queen does as she pleases.' Her words were formal but charged.

As were his. 'Take care, my daughter, that you don't overstep your powers.'

'Take care, my King, you don't overstep yours.' And with that she strode towards the back of the chambers and exited through her secret door. Simma scuttled after her.

~~~

The First Stop: The temple of Ningirsu at Lagash

'...from your skin of bricks  
on the rim of the holy hill green as mountains  
you determine fates..'

Splendid, splendid indeed was the temple of ferocious Ningirsu at Lagash.

Wondrous, wondrous indeed was the temple of gentle Ningirsu of the Plough.

Enheduanna's entourage wound its way across the fertile alluvial plains. Green vineyards stretched as far as the eye could see. Dotted among the fields were stands of trees: olives and date palms. Young boys sat on piled up mounds of stones, waving rag flags to keep the birds away. Everywhere the sound of water mills, of wheels turning, of water running through runnels and canals.

She sucked in the sweet air of the plains. The scent of peaches from a far-off orchard drifted on the breeze.

'This is a pleasant land,' she said to her maid servant Simma.

'My lady, so it is,' said Simma.

'Praise be to the lady of morning.'

'And of evening.'

They sat in their sedan chair, its poles carried on the shoulders of eight sturdy men. The chair swayed from side to side. Simma had been sick with it at the start of the journey but Enheduanna found it soothing, like the rocking of a boat moored at port. The men chanted monotonous songs to keep time. Alongside them rode their overseer on an ox cart, whip cradled in the crook of his arm.

From the flat plains rose, like a dream, the marvellous temple of Ningirsu. And Ningirsu was all about them, in His gentle form, guiding the ploughs of the farmers and vintners. Only a few more months and the temple would be festooned for the great wine festival. But they would be gone by then.

A gong sounded in the inner precinct. They had been seen from afar. A plume of red smoke rose, and the warm red of the brickwork hove into view.

Enheduanna took a deep breath. 'Light the incense,' she said. 'Prepare the dancers. We enter the glory land of our lord Ningirsu.'

Ningirsu had helped her father often. His last ten battles had been fought with Ningirsu at his side. Ningirsu had guided the generals' axes and the King's mace. Ten thousand enemies had been subdued and sent for slaves to the cities of the civilised world. Some of them were around her even now. The very men who bore her chair had come to her from her father's last battle.

'Praise be to Ningirsu,' murmured Enheduanna and drew shut the chair's drapes upon their approach. 'Praise be to Your gentle hands on the plough. Praise be to your savagery. Praise be to your dread that covers the lands like a garment.'

The sound of feet running up to her chair came from outside the closed curtains. 'Our priestess is here! Glory be to Inanna!'

And then the voice of the temple priest himself, soft and servile. 'Be welcome, oh highest priestess of the highest goddess of the highest temple in the most glorious city of Ur.'

Too servile, Enheduanna thought. Her hand went to her throat where nestled Inanna's eight-pointed star.

Her heart lurched as she heard the priest's next words: 'Hail to the goddess. Hail to the goddess' father, illustrious Nanna.'

Nanna. The moon-god's name in the language of that rebel traitor, Lugal-ane.

'Suen,' she muttered and tightened her fist until the star's points pricked her skin. 'My Lady's father is named Suen.'

Suen, lord of wisdom, father of Inanna the star and Shamash the sun, rode low in the heavens when Enheduanna shook her maid servant's shoulder. 

Simma startled awake. 

'Make ready, we travel onwards now.'

'My lady', faltered Simma.

'Fetch your clogs. Wrap your bundle. We leave this very instant.'

'To the secret destination? To the temple of the netherworld?' Simma's eyes shone with fear in the flickering light of the candle.

'No, we go straight to the temple of Inanna, to ask my queen's advice before we proceed further.' 

'But... Oh.'

'And after that we go to the temple of Nisaba, lady of the scribes.'

'So our itinerary--'

'Forget the official itinerary. Forget the secret itinerary. I am changing the itineraries.' Enheduanna found Simma's clogs and kicked them towards her bed stead. 'Make haste. The chair awaits.'

~~~

The Second Stop: The temple of Inanna at Zabalam

'O house wrapped in beams of light  
wearing shining stone jewels awakening great awe  
sanctuary of pure Inanna...'

Splendid, splendid indeed was the temple of astral Inanna at Zabalam, sensuous lover, fertile mother, indomitable majesty.

Fearsome, fearsome indeed was the temple of warrior-like Inanna, daughter of the moon and the sun.

Magnificent, most magnificent is this, the centre of the world upon which spin the heavens with all the celestial bodies.

'Oh, Zabalam, shrine of the shining mountain,' murmured Enheduanna as the first shafts of dawn light reached the topmost walls of the temple, high above the land. Countless steps raced up the sides of the brick mountain. The rays lit up the jewels and gems encrusted in the masonry. They flashed bright. They dazzled the eye. They lit up the heart.

She bent over a travel tablet and incised the surface with her stylus. 

Simma was silent, her hands gripping the chair's sides, her mouth half-open. Enheduanna noticed a new ornament on her wrist, some sort of bracelet.

But even she who was her goddess' servant and representative felt it: a tremor deep inside her. It shivered up and down her spine and gripped her womb with heat.

On both sides, in the purple dawn, glittered the waters of the mighty canals, the Iturungal and the Ninagina. At the crossing, they waited for the ferryman to arrive and for the chair bearers to manoeuvre them aboard. She had alerted only her most trusted retainers, and their clothing was dishevelled after their precipitous departure.

Even so, Enheduanna could not be sure. Simma would have whispered their new plan to their cook at least. Maybe even now someone was plotting to intercept their new itinerary. No matter. She would change it again before noon.

Also, the presence of her Lady in this holy place strengthened her. 

And then the sun rose. Everything was bathed in golden light. The sky was hazy with promised heat. The waters were deep and brown, the progress of the ferry straight and sure. It was a flat contraption, of wood and sail cloth, and the men operated it by hauling along a hawser stretched across the width of the two canals. All along the shore sat sentinel huts and the cabins of water guardians.

As they alighted, Enheduanna leant out of the chair. The bearer driver immediately shouted at the bearers to cover their eyes; the palanquin lurched. But undaunted, she dipped her fingers into the water and brought it to her lips.

Canals. Water. Their empire's life blood.

Her mouth wet, she set her face towards her Lady's house. She fixed her mind on it, and specifically on the narrow opening at its core, on that small aperture, dark as the darkest deep, upon which rested the celestial spindle. There she would sit, stripped of all her fancy garb. It would be just her and her goddess. She would place her hand inside the lip of the shaft and feel the cool draught from the heavens, feel the rotation grinding round and round. She would lie down, naked against the gem-embedded tiles, and place her mouth, in an open O, against the open O of that world's navel. And she would whisper her prayers down and up into her Mother's vagina.

And then she would know what to do next.

~~~

The Third Stop: The temple of Ningishzida at Gishbanda

'ancient place  
set deep in the mountain  
artfully  
dark shrine frightening and red place'

Indomitable and fearful was the temple of primeval Ningishzida.

Silent and terrible was the temple of the chair-bearer of the netherworld, Ningishzida of the 'thick' hair, Ningishzida of the 'beautiful hair' that 'falls down his back'.

The trek to the mountains above the entrance to the underworld had been arduous and long. But the fire of Inanna continued to burn in Enheduanna's loins, and she stoked it and preserved it and fed it with spiced pomegranates and scented beer. She anointed herself with ass's milk and painted her lips with mud-red colour, her upper and her lower lips both.

She bided her time. It was the energy of Ningishzida that she now needed.

He was an elusive god, difficult to contact. 'Slaughter nine goats,' she told the overseer. 'Pour their blood on the lowest steps of the shrine. Bathe the steps with blood and milk.'

The custodian of the temple was an ancient man. He stumped out to meet her, his priest's cap askew, his claw-like hand around the knob of a walking stick. His eyes were grey with cataracts. His gums chewed toothlessly. He looked frightening, half-dead himself, as if he had already been to the netherworld and only returned semi-alive.

Her goddess, her queen, had of course been. Faithless Dumuzi quailed there still.

Drums started to bellow with hollow voices, somewhere in the belly of the temple.

'My priest,' she said. She had put on her full ceremonial garb, flounced frock, hook of knotted reeds in her right hand, the eight-pointed star gleaming at her throat. In her left hand, she held aloft a live dove. Its claws dug into her fist and just as they reached the upper platform, she let go and it flapped away, away from the temple of death, down into the forested mountains.

The wizened priest directed them to some unadorned chambers. The walls were thick. The window slits gave onto thickly wooded slopes. There was no knowing what lurked among those trees. At night, a strange howling started up, and Simma startled into wakefulness with a thump.

Enheduanna did not light a candle. 'Simma,' she said. 'Who is your mother?'

'My lady. I do not know.'

'When were you taken into service?'

'Before I started to bleed, my lady.'

'And you do not remember your childhood at all?'

'Nothing was important before I joined my lady's service.'

'You must remember something. Tell it me.'

There was a long silence. Then, in a pained voice, 'I remember a house on an island. There was sea all around.'

'Ah,' said Enheduanna. And there it was again, her secret hope, her spring of delight, the vision of a temple girt by froth and foam, sand, rocks, maidens throwing themselves into the surf, their dresses wet against their breasts. She smiled to herself. 'Tell me more,' and her voice was almost gentle.

Simma sounded frightened, nevertheless. 'It is not important.' Perhaps the maid feared that there, too, on that island of her innocence, a bloody terror would be let loose as the King charged across it on his war chariot, shining with the ME of creation and destruction.

'Tell me, Simma, whom should we take with us on this on the next leg of our journey?'

'To be sure, my lady, I could not say.'

'Should we perhaps take all the chair bearers? Yes, they would be a good idea. And the overseer, the guards, the hairdresser, the messenger, the scribes?'

'Yes, my lady.'

'The cook's assistant. What is his name again?'

There was a spell of silence. 'I would not know,' came the barely whispered reply. 'I do not speak with the men.'

'No, of course not.' Enheduanna shook her loosened braids, free of their day-time headdress. The dark pressed against her open eyes. Death cowered in the woods. 'But he would make a good husband, would he not?'

'My lady?'

'For you, child. I think it is high time you were married. As soon as the sun rises, if it ever will in this infernal place, send him to me, this Utubanda.'

'My lady.' And then there was a long silence. The beasts of the nether night howled outside. 'I cannot go near the men.'

'So ask the eunuchs to fetch him. Send him to me on the first night at our next way station.'

'Which is where?' whispered Simma. 'Is it the temple of Ninhursag in the mountains?'

Not a bad guess, thought Enheduanna. As they were in the mountains already. But their journeying would take them on winding paths, bluffs and feints, just as moves from the royal game of Ur. 

When she woke up, the air smelled of mould. Simma was nowhere to be seen.

~~~

The Fourth Stop: The temple of Dumuzi in the Badtibira steppe

'your sky-rising wall sprawls over the high plain  
for the one who tends the ewes'

Yes, lapis lazuli glints in the brickwork of Dumuzi's abode.

Yes, the walls are so tall that they prop up the heavens themselves.

It is the fortress of the coppersmith, that Badtibira of the smelting iron, that master of the careful hammer.

But not you, Dumuzi. You were not careful. Oh no, you had to go and be an usurper. You gorged yourself on raisins and beer while your lady wept in the underworld. You cavorted with whores and painted boys. You drew black pigment around your eyes and smoothed your locks with butter. You donned my Lady's royal robes and lounged on her royal throne and desecrated the reed-knotted hook, the rosette, the eight-pointed star.

How could you forget my Lady so soon?

Well, you regret it now. You languish in the nether regions, above the waters of the abzu, borne thither by fearsome Ningishzida, He of the howling forest mountains. It fits that we are here now, in the traitor's lair.

For this was the young dead Dumuzi's temple, short-lived spouse of Inanna, banished forever just as she had been banished.

But her exile had not lasted. She had broken it. She had returned triumphant. Her father the King had smitten that Sumerian rebel Lugal-ane. He had bathed the lands in blood so that she might return to her rightful place at the centre of the city of Ur, in those southern lands that had resisted and that might resist even now. 

It was a risky gamble, to leave Ur at this time. Dangerous, risky, a folly, some might say. 

Nothing, though, was as risky as the risk of renewed expulsion. And if there was movement against her, if there were rumours whispered among the cauldrons of the palace kitchens, if there was too much unctuousness in the soft voice of Ningirsu's priest, even when tipsy with the wine of his tithe lands, then this, this deceptively bejewelled temple of a sexy young god, this was the place to rout it out.

Enheduanna prepared the setting with care. The setting, and herself.

The assistant cook arrived, creeping towards her on his knees, but when he finally looked up, he looked straight into her vulva and the thick bush of her pubic hair. He made a choking sound and laid his forehead down upon the tiles.

Enheduanna had arranged herself in the divine pose of womb reception. She had lifted her flounced dress and placed her knees wide apart, and she had shown her naked self to this commoner, this Utubanda, with the fitting name of shepherd of the sun. 

'Most curious am I to behold the man who may wed my servant Simma,' she said. 'And most curious is my mistress, the goddess of evening and of morning, to look on this man. Lift your head, cook.'

The man lifted his head but kept his eyes lowered. Sweat stood out on his forehead. 

'My goddess is most pleased to behold such a handsome face,' said Enheduanna. 'What a comely countenance you have, and for one so young, such a virile growth of beard.'

'My lady,' murmured the cook in a pained voice.

'Lift yourself up so that my goddess may study your form,' said Enheduanna.

A deep flush spread across the ruddy skin of the cook as he slowly hauled himself to his knees. Enheduanna motioned for him to stand up fully. He did, his feet planted awkwardly on the floor, his hands not knowing where they should hang.

Enheduanna shifted. Even she could smell the strong aroma of her vulva. She had anointed herself with oils and butters. She had prepared herself as a bride might, although of course she would never be a bride because high priestesses did not marry. High priestesses would not incur the risk of betrayal.

'It pleases my goddess to see you thus,' she told the man. 'And it shall please her even more if you loosen your sash.'

'M... my lady,' stammered the cook.

'Here.' She slid a jug of beer towards him across the lapis-blue tiles of Dumuzi's temple. 'Drink and fortify your loins for they will be much tested tonight.'

The cook trembled from top to toe, and his hand shook as he placed the straw between his lips and sucked. When he placed the jug back down, droplets shimmered on his moustaches.

'Cook,' said Enheduanna, 'you have beer on your beard. I solicit you to lick it off.'

The man made as if to wipe his face but Enheduanna made a sharp 'no' gesture with her left hand. Trembling even more violently, the man slid his tongue out and above his upper lip. The tongue was pink, pointed and glistened with moisture.

Enheduanna felt her own self start to glisten and swell.

'My goddess is strong within this temple,' she said. 'This is where she lay with her consort, lusty young Dumuzi, shepherd of the steppes. This is where she will take her pleasure. For my lady Inanna's desires are insatiable, and she is ferocious and wild in her ardour.'

The cook looked overcome.

'Drink,' said Enheduanna. She lifted the taper and lit the coils of incense in their bowls of sand. The heady drugs floated on the still air, and she felt her loins blaze in fire, and she felt her head go drowsy and dizzy, and her jaw go slack in readiness for... what?

'Come here,' she commanded, for she still had command of her commanding voice.

He dropped to his knees and crawled two paces towards her.

'Closer,' she said.

He took another shuffle forwards.

'Take yourself in hand.'

'I... beg your ladyship's pardon?'

Even now he did not forget himself. Enheduanna felt a heady sensation at the sound of his deferential voice.

'The goddess bids it,' she said.

The man closed his eyes in what looked close to agony. Then he slowly pushed his knee-length skirt up and closed his hand timidly around his manhood which, Enheduanna was delirious to note, was fully distended and ruddy with lust.

The temple vibrated around her. She was her goddess' house, and the temple was her spouse's house.

'You seem ready to rut,' she said casually, falling into the idiom that her goddess used when she took her savage pleasure among the men she desired. It astounded her how easily it came to her, this way of talking. 'Come now and fuck my vagina, and imagine it to be the vagina of the goddess herself for it is her whom you will fuck tonight, through her representative in the temple of her desire.'

The cook made a choking sound. But Enheduanna knew that she need do nothing now, just lean back and wait. Moisture dripped from her open cunt onto the linen cushions. Wax dripped from the candles onto her bare shoulders, tiny hot dollops of pain and ecstasy.

He slid in so easily and so fast that a groan escaped her throat. It was a deep groan, pulled from the depths of her belly in a convulsion, and her voice ceased to be her own and became that of the roaring bull who performed for Inanna, became that of the goat in heat who mounted the she-goats and fucked them until he fell down unconscious, became that of a low-bellied gong that urged worshippers to cry out in their praise of the goddess and her gods.

The mortal between her legs did his best but, as was the wont of mortals, his best lasted a short time only and then it was over, and he crouched spent between her thighs, too frightened to let himself fall forwards, instead held upright on trembling arms, with the veins throbbing blue with the effort. 

Enheduanna closed her eyes and inhaled the whiff of the incense. She snatched at her own jug of beer and pushed it towards her goddess' lover.

'Drink,' she commanded.

He drank.

'More', she commanded.

He complied, and as he put down the jug, he did so with wobbly force, and as his cock shrank inside her, such a delicious sensation of deflation, she pushed at his chest and said, 'Now use that tongue of yours and fill me with beer.'

He was not phenomenal at his task, too drunk and too young and too inexperienced in the ways of women. She had to guide his mouth and tug at his hair to make him behave in any way that was sensible, but after she had taken long draughts of beer herself and sucked in the incense draught into her nostrils and said out loud prayers to her goddess, 'praise be to you, and praise be to your lust, and praise be to your clitoris, and praise be to your orgasm, may it quake the earth and slake the dry land, may it irrigate the fields and turn fertile all the she-beasts', and as she gave herself up to the hot pleasure of her queen, the ministrations of the young worshipper were enough. After all, he was but a vessel, and her final prayers were ones of pulsing throbbing bursts, like water splitting a dyke.

~~~

The Fifth Stop: The temple of Ninhursag in the Kesh mountains

'O Kesh like holy Aratta  
inside is a womb dark and deep  
your outside towers over all  
imposing one...'

Marvellous was the temple of wild Ninhursag, goddess of the natural world.

Astounding was the temple of tame Ninhursag, goddess of the city of Kesh, daughter of the mythical land of Aratta.

Compassion lived in 'the brick of birthgiving', it 'temple tower adorned with a lapis lazuli crown.'

Enheduanna did not bother with drawing the drapes. Utu, the sun-god, blazed high in the sky. Sweat pearled on her upper lip. They had come by an erratic route, zigzagging back in on themselves. Could she but slip into the feathered body of one of Inanna's doves, she would be able to soar above the clouds and see the towers of Ur in the distance, that was how close to their starting point they had come.

If anybody were to be hard on their heels, they would practically see the dust rise from their steeds' hooves.

Alternatively, their followers could be persons of stealth who snuck ahead on tip-toes and left no trace.

Enheduanna shook her head. She clutched her tablet on her lap and made precise sharp marks. The forward arrows, the downward wedges, the come and go of point and scrape.

She hummed to herself as she completed her spell binding.

'My lady,' said Simma. 'The scribe.'

She drew a kerchief across the tablet. It would not do to let the scribe see that she herself was scribing.

One of the eunuchs gave a respectful cough. Simma pulled the curtains across. The scribe's voice sounded, nasal in timbre. 'Oh priestess, we come near a postal station. Is there a message you would have me send?'

'I thank you, scribe. Send word to the King. We will make nightfall at the temple in Kesh, praise be to the goddess Ninhursag.'

'Praise be to Ninhursag.'

The chair swayed on. Simma fanned herself with a flywhisk of ostrich feathers. The handle was of intricately-carved Nubian ivory.

'Simma,' said Enheduanna. 'Where did you get such a fancy fan?'

Simma lowered her lashes and laid the fan in her lap.

'And your bracelet, Simma. Is it silver?'

Simma hunched her shoulders. A shy smile crept across her cheeks.

'He will make an excellent husband,' said Enheduanna. 'He will seed you many children. The goddess is exceeding pleased with him.'

'My lady?' said Simma.

'He is a lusty shepherd indeed. My goddess whose temple is my body knows it to be so.'

Simma's smile had vanished. Her head was bowed so low that Enheduanna could see her bared nape between her long black braids. She made an abrupt movement and flung the fan from her.

'Careful,' said Enheduanna. 'Or it may fall from the chair into the dust.'

Simma did not move. Her fingers twisted themselves about each other.

And as she lifted her head, for a moment only, before she drew her sash across her face like a veil, her eye flashed with bewildered betrayal.

'And so did Dumuzi,' said Enheduanna and took out her tablet once more.

That very hour, she changed the itinerary yet again. 'Overseer,' she called out, without lifting her gaze from her tablet. 'Turn the train around. Never mind Kesh and the temple of Ninhursag. We go to Eresh, to the temple of scripture.' She looked over at Simma. 'And there our journey ends.'

~~~

The Sixth Stop: The temple of Nisaba at Eresh

'this shining house of stars bright with lapis stones  
has opened itself to all lands  
a whole mix of people in the shrine every month'

As they had made an about-face within sight of the temple of Ninhursag, Enheduanna had pinched open the drapery by a fraction and looked behind them, at the receding skyline of Kesh. Dust curled up around the city gates. All around, water wheels creaked and shovelled their precious load into irrigation canals. A hundred birds squawked in the tamarisk shrubs, and the song of peasants hovered in the midday heat. Among all these sounds, a clamour of metal in the distance. Smoke. Flashes of sunlight on bronze. 

Not stealth, then. The power of a rebel army.

They stopped at another postal station but this time, Enheduanna sent no message. Instead, she told her scribe to go and see the innkeeper to ask her about providing victuals and beer for her retinue and herself. She sent one of the messenger boys to find a butcher to slaughter a goat to Ninhursag, and set the guards to erecting a make-shift altar and a brazier. 'May the blood and the meat feed the goddess well,' she said. There weren't many others left; she had left most of them behind at Lagash. Two eunuchs chatted in the shade of the inn's eaves; Enheduanna dispatched one to fetch an ox cart and driver, and the other to bring her an envelope and arrange for postage.

Enheduanna stayed in the heat-close sedan chair, her lips pinched in concentration, her fingers numb with the speed of carving her spelling. The air inside was stifling but a secret smile played in her cheeks.

'Praise be to Nisaba', she murmured. 'Not today do we visit your city. Not today do we walk among the peoples of your temple, peoples from all over the world, speaking in all the languages that ever existed, and writing, writing, writing all day long.'

She dipped her stylus in the water bowl to make incision smoother.

All this while, Simma crouched motionless in the corner of the palanquin.

Enheduanna sent for the cook.

'Come,' she said from inside the chair. 'Come inside.'

'My lady,' said the cook, and Simma startled so violently that she hit her head against the side of their vehicle.

'Be quick about it, cook, and do it while everybody is busy.'

The sedan chair was in its resting position, sitting on four bricks in the shade of a peach tree. It rocked on its haunches as the cook climbed in with awkward movements.

'Undress,' Enheduanna said. Simma made a sound like a sob.

'M... my...,' stuttered the cook, with a quick sideways glance at the maidservant.

'I will show you how, and now do it.' Enheduanna unwound the scarf from her head, untied her sash, threw off the ornaments in her hair. Then she ordered Simma to untie her frock. Even her clogs were removed. She sat in but a shift. The cook had still not moved; he kept looking towards Simma. 'Oh for the goddess's sake,' said Enheduanna. 'Take off your clothes and put on mine.'

The cook's mouth opened and shut, without making a sound. 

Enheduanna struck him across the face. 'Do it, Utubanda.'

At the sound of his name, the cook started and began to tear at his garments with nervous fingers.

'And Simma, get ready to leave.'

'My lady. Is this not the end of our journey? The final temple?'

'Ah,' said Enheduanna, and felt a smile flit unbidden across her lips. 'No. This was never the final temple. There is one last destination to reach. There is still the seventh temple.'

By the time the distant sounds of metal on metal had begun to drown out the sounds of birds and water wheels, Enheduanna and her maid were safely ensconced among the barley bales in the cart, behind the ample behind of the ox cart driver. Just as they turned out of the postal inn's gates, Enheduanna, in the guise of a man, sprang down and dashed into the establishment, sealing a tablet in its clay envelope as she went. She was back in the cart in a trice.

Utubanda remained behind in the royal palanquin, a-tremble in his high priestess's finery.

~~~

The Seventh Stop: The temple of Nanshe at Sirara

'you dream-opener   
... laughing in the sea foam  
playing in the waves...'

Was there ever such a delight as the temple of Nanshe, goddess of the sea?

Was there ever such a joy as the island of Sirara in the sea, home of Nanshe, dream interpreter and diviner of desires?

They had travelled by ox cart, and then by horse. Simma baulked at having to mount such a beast but Enheduanna bade her hush and leaped atop the steed like the warrior goddess whom she served. Her hair escaped in tendrils from her cook's cap, her eyes blazed, the eight-pointed star at her throat shone forth.

'Stop sulking,' she called out to Simma who clutched onto her waist from behind. The horses' hooves thundered below. Exhilaration combed her face above. 'They will not catch up with us. They will be confused, diverted by their conviction that you betrayed me, spurred by jealousy.'

'Me, my lady? I would never...'

'Oh yes, you would. Indeed, I believe you had already set events in motion to put a stop to our journey.'

After a while, Simma said, 'Will you have me banished?'

'Nonsense, child. It was all part of my plan. And your future husband is quite safe. You will be wed before the equinox.'

Simma wept then, but whether for joy or out of relief, in frustration or in helpless devotion, Enheduanna could not tell.

Orderly rows of barley stood on both sides of the highway like stitches on a bride's garment.

Something glittered and glimmered on the horizon, and that something was the wide wild sea.

The port town was sleepy and small. Once a year, people congregated here for the festival of dreams and to celebrate the slaying of the dragons. Once a year, they boarded the rafts and boats of the coastal regions and bobbed across the strait to the island of Sirara. Once a year, they ran up flags and strung garlands of soapwort and almond blossoms along the branches of the date palms.

Not this day, though. This day it was only a dust-stained cook's assistant and his surly wife (or so he said) who made their way down to the wharf and found a raft for hire.

Herons stood ankle-deep in the reeds. Ducks sailed on deep-green waves.

On the shore of that island, in the sea of dreams, stood a woman surrounded by temple maidens. She was the priestess of the temple of Nanshe, and she raised her hand and hailed the cook. 'Enheduanna!' she cried, and her voice resounded across the water like a clear morning bell. 'Long have I waited!'

In the temple of the sea, Enheduanna danced with the maidens who were in attendance there, a bevy of sweet white-gowned women. She had forgotten how good it was to dance, how free she felt, how her naked feet drummed on the floor, how the sweat clung to her armpit hair as she lifted her hands above her head, how the cymbals shaken and beaten by the ladies made her heart race.

And sweetest of all was the priestess of the place, her kisses like saltwater on a wound, her laughter like lazy circles of light in still waters.

Seventy days and seventy nights did they stay in that temple on that island. A young man in women's clothing joined them one night. The priestess performed a wedding ceremony one day. Simma learned to laugh again, and Utubanda learned to stand tall. Enheduanna wrote many hymns on soft clay tablets, with a stylus tipped in lapis lazuli and gold.

Somewhere, an army lost itself in the desert, and a furious father, King of an Empire under threat, listened to a letter and rode out at the head of a horde, mace in his right hand, adze in his left hand, war chariots all around.

'Great-hearted mistress,' wrote Enheduanna. 'Impetuous lady, pre-eminent in all the lands, great daughter of Suen, exalted lady who gathers up the divine powers of heaven and earth, mightiest of the gods. On the wide and silent plain, she turns midday into darkness. Beloved lady, you alone are majestic. To run, to escape, to pacify are yours, Inanna. To rove, to rush, to rise up are yours, Inanna. To turn a man into a woman and a woman into a man are yours, Inanna. You are the great cow among the gods of heaven and earth. May your praise not cease!'

And at the end of the dense lines, with a neat stack of tablets next to her in the sand of the shore, she looked to the open sea, chewed on the end of the stylus, and then she bent down and wrote, with the magic of script, 

'I am Enheduanna, high priestess.'

**Author's Note:**

> This yuletide story is for my sekrit recipient. Thank you so very much for the wonderful prompt: 'Fandom: Akkadian Empire RPF. Character: Enheduanna.' I hope you enjoy this story of Enheduanna, poet, priestess, politician (and more). Happy reading!
> 
> Content warning: Mention of canon-compliant violence. Dub-con.
> 
> Heartfelt thanks the wonderful Tamaranth for beta and virtual writing moots.
> 
> The poetic quotes are taken from Enheduanna's seven temple hymns, and the sentences at the end are adapted from her hymn to Inanna. Her father was indeed the Akkadian King Sargon, founder of the world's first empire, and the temples, gods and goddesses all existed as did Lugal-ane who led a rebel Sumerian coup attempt which resulted in a temporary exile for Enheduanna. Simma and Utubanda are original inventions. The ME exists. Thanks for inspiration go to Holly Ingraham's People's Names, Gwendolyn Leick's Sex & Eroticism in Mesopotamian Literature, Gwendolyn Leick's edited volume The Babylonian World, Jean Bottéro's recipe book The Oldest Cuisine in the World: Cooking in Mesopotamia and various Mesopotamia enthusiasts on the internet.
> 
> All original parts of this story: © me, the author  
> 16 December 2020


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